The Magic Shop
by Draceline
Summary: When enough magic accumulates in one place for a long enough time, that place tends to become aware, sometimes even sentient. When Ollivander's shop decides that it cannot lose its master to Death, it takes his fate, and Hermione's, into its own "hands."
1. Chapter 1

Many thanks to my beta Bunnyhops, and to Shinigamioni and Shadowchsr, who helped me finish this chapter. Also, thanks to MistressMalfoy of GE, who had to add a whole category for this story.

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters and canon Potter Verse belong to JK Rowling and associates.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Diagon Alley was, as per usual for a sunny day in July, bustling with summer-time shopping. Everywhere one turned, one could hear shop owners hawking their wares, hyperactive children whining at their parents, said parents reprimanding their children for whining.

There were, however, two places in which these sounds were not to be heard. One such shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, would ordinarily be the center of the commotion and noise, and today was no different from the norm; the reason that these everyday sounds could not be heard was that the Weasley twins were currently giving a demonstration of their newest wares: the "Double Dragonfire Fireworks (patent pending): Opaleye Edition." All that could be heard within the limits of the property was the fizzing, whistling, and banging emanating from the fireworks. Verity was forced to employ the use of an Auto-Answer Quill in order to communicate the prices of items to customers.

The other shop had an entirely different reason for the lack of noise. Ollivander's Wand Shop was rarely witness to such rambunctious activity, other than the pre-school shopping rush. Of course, there was the odd wizard or witch who walked in needing a repair or a replacement for their wand, or the occasional parent with a Hogwarts bound child, wanting to beat the August rush. Today, there had been one repair request as well as two early school shoppers and a custom carving order from the Malfoy family. Apparently, Narcissa wanted a new rune added to her wand.

All in all, this was a normal day in the shop, including the special order from the Malfoys. This normal day, however, was about to become a bit, well, less normal.

The sound of an explosion soon rang out along the street, making the cacophony in front of the Weasley's shop seem small, followed by the sound of incensed cursing. Shoppers who frequented Diagon Alley were accustomed to random explosions, but they were not expecting any to come from the end of the street on which Ollivander's was located. Especially considering the identity of the person who Mr. Ollivander had taken on as an apprentice.

Hermione Granger was sitting at one of the workbenches in the back of the wand shop, covered in soot and seething, glowering at the sparking wand in front of her. She had just closed the incision she used to insert the new wands core, and immediately she had a face full of cinders.

"I _thought_ Palm wands were supposed to be _docile!_" Hermione cried as her mentor finally reentered the room from the front of the shop. She had read through her books several times and nowhere had she seen references to Palm wood wands reacting badly to a phoenix feather core.

Mr. Ollivander nodded in agreement. "Generally speaking, they are."

The wand sparked and popped again, as if to deny the previous statement.

"Very curious," said Ollivander as Hermione glared at the new wand as if it had said something offensive.

The bell in the front of the shop rang, signaling the arrival of a customer. As Hermione was getting to her feet to meet the customer, leaving Ollivander to study the oddly behaving wand, she heard a clomp and shouting from outside, the tell-tale sounds of visiting Weasleys.

"_Fred! George!_How many times do we have to tell you to warn us if you're going to experiment?" Hermione heard Mr. Blott's voice floating in the door. "The explosions are disturbing our customers!"

"It wasn't us," said Fred, sounding much closer. They were standing on the stoop outside the door.

"We didn't do it this time," George continued. "Honest!" they intoned together.

"If it wasn't _you_, then who..." the shopkeeper trailed off, finally realizing that the smoking entryway they were standing in front of was not that of their own shop. "Ollivander's?"

Hermione went to the door and peered out. Ever since the shop was moved to its new location between Eeylops Owl Emporium and Moriarty's Magical Instruments, Hermione had been on good terms with the owners of the busier shops in Diagon Alley. Mr. Blott had an odd look on his face, half of irritation at the commotion and half of concern, now knowing from where the explosion issued. Mr. Flourish was peering out from the window in his first-floor office.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blott. I just finished assembling a new wand and the core reacted strangely with the wood. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything is fine," Mr. Blott responded, waving has hand dismissively. "One of the displays moved about a foot to the left, but that was easily remedied. Are you unharmed, dear girl? That sounded like quite the explosion."

"Everything is fine here. Mr. Ollivander is investigating why the wand reacted the way it did."

Suddenly another, larger, explosion rocked the street, causing all of the owls next door to wake up and start squawking in complaint, the shattering of glass and subsequent cursing from the magical instruments shop, and half of the inventory in the wand shop to fall off the shelves and out of their boxes. Smoke began to pour out of the doorway with even more gusto.

"That definitely wasn't us," George commented as they regained their equilibrium. Fred nodded and then jumped again when Hermione gasped.

"Oh no."

She ran back inside the shop, intent on finding her mentor and making sure he was in one piece. When she reached the back room, she saw the destruction; the plaster on the walls had begun to fall off the wall studs, shelves were in pieces, wands and wand materials were scattered everywhere, the workbench singed and smouldering. Nowhere did she see her mentor.

"Mr. Ollivander?" she cried, "Mr. Ollivander, are you alright? Are you here?"

A soft groan issued from the corner, underneath a pile of formerly boxed wands. Hermione immediately scurried to the corner to help the man up from where he was thrown by the blast.

She unburied the man from the large quantity of boxes and helped him sit up. "Sir, are you alright? Do you remember what..." she trailed off. "Who are you?"

Sure enough, the man she was half supporting was not the same man she had left behind when she went to the front of the shop. This man looked to be about thirty years old, despite his long white hair.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" the man asked sounding puzzled. "I am exactly who I was five minutes ago."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And who is that, exactly?"

The man frowned. "This is a strange way to figure out whether or not I have a concussion, Hermione."

Now Hermione began to get impatient. "Sir, please answer the question. I need to find Mr. Ollivander and—"

The man's eyes widened in surprise. "What are you talking about?" he asked again. "I _am_Zeno Ollivander."

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><p>Yes, I have given Mr. Ollivander a name. I noticed that he didn't have a given name in the books and that just doesn't work for me. I shall give you a small blurb about his namesake.<p>

_"After the conquests of Alexander, the world was larger than ever, and the city-state had ceased to be an important political unit. Like Diogenes of Sinope and Epicurus, Zeno of Citium (336-264 BCE) ignored traditional values like prestige and honor, and focused on man's inner peace. In his view, this was reached when a person accepted life as it was, knowing that the world was rationally organized by the logos. A man's mind should control his emotions and body, so that one could live according to the rational principles of the world. It has often been said that Zeno's ideas combine Greek philosophy with Semitic mysticism, but except for his descent from a Phoenician town on Cyprus and an interest in (Babylonian) astronomy, there is not much proof for this idea. This philosophy, called Stoicism, became very influential under Roman officials."_

I then thought it might be funny if he had a name that sounded a bit like part of Xenophilius Lovegood's name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Thanks again to my beta reader, Bunnyhops, and to my alpha reader(?)/cheerleader Shinigamioni. You are both a great deal of help.

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><p>"What do you mean, you <em>are<em> Ollivander?"

The near-frantic bellow was heard from the from the wand shop all the way to the used book boutique next to the shop's former location. The owls next door, having only just calmed enough to retake their perches, startled and took flight again. Crookshanks, having wandered in to investigate the commotion, laid flat his ears and hissed.

"I am Zeno Ollivander," the man repeated, one eyebrow raised in confusion at the girl's strange lack of recognition.

The twins both had skeptical expressions on their faces.

"Prove it," they challenged.

"Prove to us-" Fred started, holding his wand.

"-that you are who you say you are," George finished.

"Fred and George Weasley: Alder and dragon heart-string, 11 ¾ inches, and hawthorn and unicorn hair, 12 inches, respectively. Fourth and fifth children of Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley neé Prewitt, in turn possessing wands of rowan and phoenix tail feather and willow and unicorn hair. Younger brothers of Bill, Charlie, and Percy-"

"Enough!" Hermione exclaimed, cutting the man off. "That knowledge proves nothing. You could have learned their provenance almost anywhere if you had _anything_ to do with the last war."

The white haired man sighed.

"Hermione Jean Granger. Vine wood and dragon heart-string, 11 ½ inches. You were very difficult to match. We tried thirty-seven different wands before you were accepted. Your wand created a slew of yellow and gold sparks and nearly unseated Professor McGonagall from the chair she had conjured in the front of the shop."

Hermione's eyes slowly widened as she heard details that she had never relayed to anyone.

"You have been using the wand of the late Bellatrix Black for three years, capturing it after your original wand was snapped-and, if I may add, it does not suit you, despite your ability to use it.

"You have been my apprentice for two and a half years, beginning your training shortly after my wife passed from this world," he continued. "You created your first usable wand a year ago—three years before any other apprentice would have even _thought_ of attempting it—and this morning, _we_ were working with exotic wood and core materials, at your suggestion, to attempt to specialize a wands' capabilities."

George and Fred looked to Hermione for confirmation. Her shocked expression and sputtered words told them everything they needed to know.

"How-? What-?"

Crookshanks, now bored with the humans talking, firmly rubbed his head on his mistress's knee in an attempt to gain her attention. Other than a few distracted scratches down his spine, he failed entirely. Feeling rather affronted by the lack of attention his "slave" was affording him, he moved on.

"If I may now ask, what is this all about?" the man, now confirmed to be the old wand-maker, questioned as he watched the fluffy orange cat sniff his foot, rub on his leg, and then make his way to Fred.

"Well, sir," George said, extending his arm to help Ollivander to his feet, "you are going to need to look in a mirror. I don't think that you will believe us otherwise."

She couldn't explain it. No matter which way she turned it in her mind, Hermione could not, for the life of her, figure out what had happened.

_I finished carving the grip of the Palm wand and I opened the shaft to insert the wand core. I inserted the core and closed it. The most it should have done was spark._

A little bit of investigation had found that the new wand had been reacting to the presence of another wand; removing it to a different area in the shop made it stop fizzing and smoking. No, the latter, much larger explosion was caused by a different wand entirely, one that her mentor had finished that morning.

She hadn't seen Thestral hair and _Lignum Vitae_ in combination before, but even with the addition of a secondary, or even a tertiary wood—a very common practice in the Americas, which was the reason she had suggested it—her research had shown that the effects should not have been violent. In fact, the Canarywood inlays would have helped stabilize the _Lignum Vitae_ and the Birch. There must have been an outside factor that affected the joining of the materials. Why else would it make the workshop explode?

Hermione stared at the troublesome wand, now laying, quite docile, on the worktable. She poked it. It rolled.

_Then_ there was the matter of Mr. Ollivander. How could that kind of spell "damage" (for lack of a better word) have occurred in the first place? She had seen potions that produced that same effect for a couple of hours, but never a spell, and NEVER for more than a set length of time. They permanent ones tended have some nasty little side effects, the very mildest being the loss of memories gained after the age the drinker reverted to (understandable for _true_ anti-aging), and they would usually leave a certain magical "residue" that someone who knew what to look for could sense. Needless to say, _those_ versions were made illegal.

This situation, however, was almost entirely different. It had been about six hours since the accident, and still there was no sign of Mr. Ollivander returning to normal. In fact, the effect seemed to be entirely stable, with none of the gradual aging normally present when the longer acting anti-aging potions would begin to wear off.

And he still had his memories.

A sudden squawk to her left startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up to find a large red and gold bird perched on the back of the chair next to her.

She smiled. "Hello, Fawkes."

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><p><strong>Chapter End Notes:<strong>

First, I know it has been a very long time since I updated, and that my chapter is rather short. Between life and school, my time and inspiration is rather low and slow. I hope this doesn't continue to be the case in the future (and also that I can get some inspiration when I'm not supposed to be writing a paper…).

Second, I am aware that Pottermore has revealed Mr. Ollivander's given name to be Garrick. I have no intention of changing my story to fit what could now be considered canon. I started this story before his name was known, and I like the name I chose. In all honesty, I think the name Garrick is a little unpleasant.

Thanks for reading, and I hope to update again soon.


	3. Chapter 3

At the time of original submission, this chapter is un-beta'd. I just didn't want to keep it away from you all for too much longer. Once a beta has gone through the chapter, I will come back and make any changes that were suggested.

**Disclaimer:** _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. Any other recognizable objects or characters belong exclusively to their respective owners. __I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

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><p><strong>The Magic Shop – Chapter 3<strong>

_She was satisfied with her work._

_Never again would she need to worry about losing her connection with her Craftsman. She loved her Craftsman, but she knew she could never have him the way she wanted. She could, however, help him be happy. She knew him better than he often knew himself._

_The Scholar would make him happy. She could see the interlocking shape of their souls, the threads that tied them together. She could see that they each needed the other._

_But she also knew that her Craftsman felt himself too old for happiness, too old for spiritual connection of any kind, and the Scholar was so very young. She solved that. With help from the Bird and the Cat, she admitted, but it was she that put events into motion._

_If she could smile, she would._

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><p>When Hermione woke the next morning, she had a horribly cramped neck and spine. She opened her eyes and saw she was still sitting at the worktable, surrounded by open books. She must have fallen asleep while reading again. That was one of the many wonderful things about apprenticing under Mr. Ollivander: he understood her compulsion to read anything and everything placed in front of her and had never chastised her for her ambitious reading habits.<p>

He was a good man, a kind man. Sometimes she wished that there were more men her age that were like Mr. Ollivander.

Her age.

Oh no.

Suddenly remembering what had happened the day before, Hermione bolted out of her seat and through the workshop to the living quarters upstairs. She heard several voices coming from the kitchen. _Please be a dream. PLEASE be a dream! Let Mr. Ollivander be alright!_

"—and judging by the sudden sound of thundering feet, here she comes now," said one voice.

"I think you're right Fred. And also judging by that very same din, she remembers what happened," replied another. Apparently the twins were still here. That in itself solidified her fear that yesterday's occurrences did in fact happen. She charged through the kitchen doorway and nearly collided with the table as she skidded to a halt in her stocking feet.

"Fred! George! Where is he?!" Hermione half shouted in her frantic state.

"In his room. Asleep. Or he was until you came barreling in here like a rampaging hippogriff," replied one of the twins (she wasn't sure which twin it was, nor did she particularly care at this very moment).

True enough, they then heard the sound of movement from the room down the corridor, including several loud bangs (one of which sounded like a small explosion followed by the thud of something hitting the door).

"And there goes our monitor," the other twin sighed.

Hermione glared at them. "Monitor? What did you two do that he needs to be monitored? What was that explosion?"

They didn't answer. Instead, one twin—whom Hermione now recognized as George—pushed his breakfast away, stood from his seat at the kitchen table, moved toward the door and out into the corridor. The kitchen's remaining occupants could faintly hear him knocking on the bedroom door and asking if the wandmaker was all right. There was a muffled response, and then they heard George walking back to the kitchen.

"He says he will be right out," George stated, answering Hermione's interrogatory look. "The monitor's Following Charm went wonky. The little blighter decided to climb onto the nightstand and knock everything off of it."

"And what was that explosion?"

"The monitors self-destruct if they are detected. We haven't been able to work out that bug yet," said Fred.

"Mum nearly went spare when one climbed into the china cupboard last week. It exploded all of the good teacups," said George.

"I don't believe that I blame her," said a new voice. They turned to see Ollivander walk into the kitchen.

Hermione jumped up from the seat that Fred had placed her in.

"Are you alright, Mr. Ollivander, sir?" she asked, moving to usher the man to the last unclaimed seat at the table, all the while looking him over, searching for any signs that the twins may have inadvertently brought harm to her teacher.

The man chuckled, allowing her to pull him to the chair before gently shrugging her off.

"Hermione, please stop your mollycoddling." He smiled. "I am fine. I'm not as old as I used to be."

The twins snorted.

She grimaced, both at the joke, and the gentle jab at her concern. "That is not funny!"

"Actually—" said the Weasleys.

"—it was—"

"—just a little."

"Oh, you—"

"Enough!" Ollivander intervened. "This isn't important now. I apologize, Hermione. Perhaps my joke was in poor taste. I know you worry."

She pursed her lips and sat back down, still looking a bit perturbed, but calmer now that she knew her teacher was unharmed and, apparently, in good spirits.

He smiled kindly. "Honestly, my dear, I'm fine. I haven't felt this good in years."

Just then there was a quiet, _brush, tap, tap, scratch,_ sound at the kitchen window.

Ollivander looked up and, seeing the cause of the sound, exclaimed, "Ah, the morning post," then turned, opening the sash to allow five owls, a swan, and a very nervous looking Crowned Pigeon to fly in. Two of the owls simply dropped their cargo—a copy of the Daily Prophet and an issue of the Quibbler—onto the table, and flew back out. Two others flew to Fred and George, bringing each of the twins several envelopes (one of which smelled suspiciously like bubotuber pus). The owls had gotten accustomed to bringing the twins' morning post to the wand shop; it had become a regular occurrence for the boys to come over for breakfast, though usually Hermione was the one to let them in.

The last owl, a lovely, caramel colored barn owl, landed on the back of Hermione's chair and started preening her feathers. She had been carrying a thick envelope (which was promptly dropped in George's scrambled eggs), and had an air about her that implied that the sender was not expecting an immediate response. This owl belonged to Professor McGonagall, to whom Hermione had requested use of the Hogwarts library. The Headmistress had obviously seen fit to send something other than a simple affirmation.

"Hello, Athena," Hermione said as she stroked the owl's breast, gave her a piece of the bacon from the breakfast table, and turned her attention to the large pigeon that was now attempting to nest in her hair.

"A little help?" she pleaded. The boys, who were, until now, near howling, then proceeded to help extricate the troublesome bird from her mane. Why did Luna have to decide that she wanted to breed various species of pigeon? Hermione supposed that she should be glad Luna hadn't sent the Nicobar pigeon again; last time, the silly thing arrived three days late and it took two hours to catch.

She took the letter from the Crowned pigeon and let it go. It gave her a grateful nibble with its beak, and flew out the window. Luna's birds were brave, but they understandably didn't want to be in a confined space with one of their natural predators any longer than needed.

Hermione opened the letter—which was more of a note, really—and read, _Believe in old stories. They are more real than you think. -Luna_

She raised an eyebrow. It was not a very specific note, but it had recently been discovered that Luna was a very distant descendant of Cassandra and as such had the gift of True Sight (which also explained some of her odd behavior). While her visions were usually vague and were often interspersed with her nonsense about nargles and snorkacks, anyone who knew Luna knew from experience that to not listen to her could prove unwise. Keeping that in mind, Hermione set Luna's letter aside and then focused on the rather spectacular Mute swan that was waiting patiently on the kitchen floor. _This_ was the letter she was most eager to receive; it may hold some of the answers that she was looking for about yesterday's accident.

She quickly untied the package from the swan's leg (tied because, after all, swan feet don't work like owl feet) and nearly tore it open in her eagerness.

"Well, what does it say?" asked Fred as Hermione opened the attached letter. The twins both looked up from their post—most of which was comprised of W.W.W. mail order slips, with one or two hate letters—and Ollivander set down his glass of orange juice. All three men had their attention on her.

She read:

"_Dear Hermione,_

_While I greatly hope you are able to find the cause and the solution to your problem, I'm afraid I wasn't able to provide as much help as either of us would have wished._

_Last night I called on the family of Mr. Mykew Gregorovitch (Nikolai, the grandson, has recently reopened his late grandfather's shop). As you know, they are old family friends, and I felt they were the most likely to hold the answers you needed._

_I have enclosed copies from several craftmasters' diaries—pages which Nikolai and I believe may be the most helpful in your search. Also enclosed is a book which Nikolai's father remembered Mykew reading to him as a child. While it may seem like a collection of children's stories, Nikolai believes that this may be a similar situation to that of the Tale of the Three Brothers. Read it carefully; it may prove useful._

_The package is spelled to open only at the hands of yourself and those of Mr. Ollivander. This is, after all, information that is liable to prove dangerous if it were to be intercepted by inexperienced or malicious hands. My bird is obviously an added security measure._

_Give my best to Mr. Ollivander as well as the Weasley twins (I'm assuming they have elected to help you). Send me a reply when you can._

_Yours,_

_Viktor."_

Hermione finished the letter, swatted George's hands away from the package ("Hey!"), and pulled it toward herself. Giving the parcel a tap with her wand, the paper neatly unfolded itself, tucking itself underneath its contents: an envelope containing what she assumed were the wandmakers' notes, and a very old, musty-smelling, leather bound book entitled, _Tales from the Sorcerer's Ghost: The Collected Works of Yen Sid_.

Flipping through the dry pages, she discovered that it was indeed a book of fairytales. Hermione handed the book to her teacher who then glanced through it.

"I know this book. I recall my own father reading this to me as a boy. The tales are not especially popular any longer, however," Ollivander grumbled as he passed the book to Fred, who appeared entirely unfamiliar with it. "It seems parents don't want their children reading anything with substance."

They all agreed. Hermione took the book back, eager to start reading. She _would_ figure this out.

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><p><em>She watched. The Scholar would soon begin her quest for knowledge, and through that pursuit, the Scholar would discover more than she had realized possible. She then would join the Craftsman in both mind and soul. As was meant to be.<em>

_She would have to be careful, however. The Scholar was young, and with youth came obstinence. The Scholar would not so easily allow herself to be molded to the Plan._

_The Craftsman could also prove difficult. Although his Form was restored to a previous state of existence, his soul was tired. He felt outdated. He felt unworthy of happiness; nevertheless, he could be rejuvenated, and the time he spent with the Inventors and the Scholar would go a long way toward this goal._

_She must be vigilant. She would ensure that the Plan was followed, the Goal obtained._

_She would watch. She would wait._

_But for now, however, she was content._

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><p><strong>End Notes:<strong>

So how was it? Was it worth the wait? I sincerely apologize for the long interval, and I hope I haven't lost too many of you loyal readers that decided to follow this story. 


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